"It hasn't gotten any better," Hania said to me before heading off to work, "but it hasn't gotten any worse."
I was still in bed, dreading the next 48 hours: closing the hurricane shutters, then sitting in our third-floor cave listening to the wind and waiting for the electricity to go. Eleven years ago during Wilma a friend in Miami met a neighbor in her building and moved in, sharing stories and eating candlelit dinners. But the romance didn't last.
"What happened?" I asked her.
"The electricity came back on," she said.
